


It's too much

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Dragonlord Merlin (Merlin), F/M, Good Morgana (Merlin), Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Magic, Merlin & Morgana Friendship (Merlin), Powerful Merlin (Merlin), Protective Arthur, Protective Gwaine (Merlin), Scared Merlin (Merlin), Secrets, Suicidal Thoughts, slightly oblivious Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: Merlin's power is growing, and he doesn't know what to do
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 431





	1. Pain

He knew it was unhealthy, but what was so harmful about it, if nobody else got hurt? He needed something, especially recently.

The first time it happened, it was because Merlin’s Magic started to grow, far faster than he could ever have predicted. He’d always been in such control, kept it wrapped up and hidden under his skin, even after Arthur knew he had it. It was still a lie, Merlin’s Magic was just a thing they didn’t talk about, only relied upon if absolutely needed. That was okay, Merlin felt fine about keeping it a hidden, even if Morgana got to openly display hers to any that came to Camelot. Not that he minded. He didn’t, honest.

So, when the nightmares woke him and there were flames licking at his feet, of his own creating, he panicked. That was Morgana’s thing, uncontrollable power, not his. Merlin, who didn’t want to wake Gaius, had to do something. The burns, he realised, helped ground him. It was a weird thing, the fact that his own Magic was attacking him, and it only got worse.

His Magic was getting more powerful. It was his only conclusion. It started doing things before he asked it to, catching things he dropped, warming the bath water without a single thought. He would walk through the forest, and beneath his feet, flowers would bloom. Creatures would peek out, watch him like he was one of them, rather than a servant of a King who was legalising Magic.

The plan had been formed by accident. After Merlin figured out that the burns had stopped the fire, he realised that it would work for other incidents as well. He dropped something, his Magic picked it up, and Merlin rewarded it with a little pain. It started out small, a pinch to the skin, perhaps, and he dropped the item on purpose.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was attempting to achieve, maybe that his Magic would go back, to what it had been, but it didn’t work. It grew. His room began to change, softer sheets and warmer clothes, like it was trying to help him. His food portions would grow, his usual clumsiness continued, but the bruises would heal quickly.

Then he summoned a storm. He didn’t even realise it, had been out walking after Arthur had sent him to the stocks, covered in the rotten vegetables. He’d been moaning, angry and upset that Arthur was being a prat, wasn’t listening to him as usual. Looked up, when rain hit his cheek. It had been a bright day, but now the sky was clouded with stormy colours, thunder rumbling over Camelot. That had been him, he realised, horrified.

The panic was the next thing, Merlin trying in vain to stop it, to send back the clouds, only for lightning to strike one of the trees. The fire burst up, scorching the earth, and Merlin could only think of one solution.

His Magic would not attack, if he was not conscious. It wasn’t easy, to knock himself out, but eventually he managed to hit his head hard enough, and he was gone.

That was the moment he realised he had an issue, and so he thought about what to do. When Morgana had lost control, she had come to him for help. He had spent his evenings teaching her, soothing her panic, and it worked. Slowly, she began to get a hold of her Magic, and Merlin wondered if he could go to her. But he was still a servant. She was a Lady, had every right to ask for his help, but it didn’t work the same way. So, not Morgana.

Gwen was his next thought, but he didn’t think she would be able to cope. She’d lost her father because of Magic, had almost lost Morgana, it would be unfair to ask her to deal with this. Gaius, as much as Merlin loved him, meant too much to him to involve. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on his mentor’s face, didn’t think he could handle it.

Arthur. There came the same issue as Morgana, Arthur was King, not someone that Merlin could just bother with his issues. Plus, he wasn’t supposed to talk about his Magic.

Lancelot, who knew about his Magic, but would feel torn. He was loyal to Arthur, and was attempting to court Morgana, so he couldn’t tell the Knight.

Gwaine was the one that he almost told. He got as far as the Knight’s room, raised his hand to knock, then froze. Gwaine was his friend, had stood by him for many things, but Merlin couldn’t shake the feeling that the Knight would judge him, for such a thing. He was still a servant, why should he bother a Knight with something that he should be able to control?

It was only then that Merlin realised that he didn’t have anybody else. That led to another storm, uncontrollable fire and Merlin ending the entire thing by stabbing himself through the thigh with a knife, surprised by the pain.

When he woke up, the knife was gone, his Magic evidently having made it vanish. There was no hole in his trousers, nothing to indicate he had stabbed himself, apart from the dried blood and the silvery scar that was left behind.

Then came Kilgharrah, the Dragon calling to him in his mind, because Merlin had told him he couldn’t come back to Camelot. But Merlin pushed that down too, buried it under layers of smiles and cheeky remarks, actually surprised when nobody realised what was wrong.

**

Which led to the present, Merlin propped against a tree, knees drawn to his chest, sobbing. The tears rolled freely, dripped down his cheeks and dropped to the ground, the grass shrivelling where they landed. The knife was by his side, dried blood on the blade, and Merlin realised it had all gone too far. That, considering he’d just stabbed himself straight into his stomach, he might need some help.

But he didn’t have anybody. He was alone, sitting in a forest and wondering if it was best to run. He wasn’t sure where, didn’t know if there was anywhere that would make him feel safe. He was a danger, to all those that surrounded him. Uncontrollable Magic, that was what he had, and it was going to kill people. It would kill him, had he not the ability to heal himself.

The conclusion came as Merlin considered trying the knife again, the thought slamming into him hard enough that he gasped.

He was a Warlock, something that did not fit into this world, not where Magic was still so hesitantly observed. The only logical steps he could take, was to get away from people. To go somewhere that he might be accepted, a place of Magic.

The Isle of the Blessed wasn’t a very homely place, he thought, beginning to wander randomly through the trees. He had no idea which way to go, but his Magic seemed to guide him, pushing him through the trees. He hadn't told anyone where he was going, had brought no food or water, but he couldn’t turn around. His feet just kept walking, and Merlin let his mind slip away.

**

Arthur was uncomfortable. As much as he wanted Magic to be welcomed to Camelot, he was still slightly wary of it, and would feel much better if his manservant was by his side. Unfortunately, Merlin had gone on a walk and hadn't returned yet, was probably at the Tavern. That left his sister, to stand by his side as the Leader of one of the Druid Camps came into the room.

The request had been odd, an urgent meeting with the King required. The man walked in, looked around the room and stared at each person that Arthur had called to be witness to this. Gaius, as both a councillor, physician, and someone knowing more about Magic than both he and Morgana combined. His five Knights, even Gwaine, who had a hangover and a tired expression. Gwen, standing by Morgana’s side.

‘Your Highness.’ He bowed, and Arthur greeted him back.

‘Aglain. You said there was a matter, of urgency?’ He was nervous, he had only just settled Camelot, the last thing he needed was another threat.

‘Indeed, Sire. Not only to Camelot, but to the whole of Albion. And the lands beyond.’ Well. Arthur struggled to keep calm, gestured for the man to take a seat at the table. He did so, while Arthur hid his nerves.

‘To the whole of Albion, and you come to me? What is this threat?’ What could it be? A war?

‘As you are aware, you were crafted of Magic.’ Not where he expected this to go, blinked, and looked to Gaius. It had not been common knowledge, the Knights around the table looked slightly bewildered.

‘Yes, but what has that…’ Aglain gave him a look, one that told him Arthur had to be patient.

‘The Old Religion is specific, sire. It can gift great things, but in return, it requires things. Life, death. For you to be born, of such dark Magic, something had to be created to balance it.’

‘Merlin.’ Gaius cut in, and Arthur halted in his tracks. What had Merlin got to do with this?

‘Emrys is your counterpart, the child of the Old Religion. A balancing point, vital to keeping the lands of Albion in harmony.’ Emrys was Merlin, that much Arthur knew. He was aware that there was some form of prophecy, but never to this extent. He looked to Morgana, who seemed aware of such a thing, and Gaius, that looked worried.

‘Merlin is my… balance?’ He questioned, struggling to see the clumsy servant as anything more than that. No, Merlin was his friend. His closest advisor.

‘Just as it is meant to be. One of you cannot be, without the other. It would not be natural.’ Arthur felt a sinking sensation in his gut, like his body was trying to warn him of something. He shifted, tried to focus on what he was saying.

‘The Old Religion? Merlin’s… important to it?’ He knew of the new religion, and the old religion. And the fight between them.

‘He’s the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, Sire.’ His Merlin. Arthur had to do a double take, noted that neither Gaius nor Morgana looked shocked.

‘Like… like your level?’ He asked Morgana, fully aware that his sister was a terrifyingly skilled sorceress. He had seen some of the stuff she could do, and it terrified him.

‘Merlin’s supposed to be powerful enough to kill me, without doing any real damage to himself.’ Morgana stated calmly, and Arthur just sat there. Merlin, the same man that he made muck out stables, was an all-powerful sorcerer.

‘They call him the child of the Gods.’ Aglain added, and that was just about it. All he could take.

‘If he’s so powerful, then why is there a threat? Can’t he stop it?’ Did Merlin watch them get attacked by bandits, so scared that Arthur would kill him, that he didn’t help? Did he think that Arthur didn’t want the assistance?

‘He is the threat, milord.’ Everything went silent. Nobody spoke, not until Gwaine growled out something that should not be repeated, and Morgana snapped at the Druid.

‘Impossible. Merlin’s nothing but loyal to Arthur, always.’ When had his sister become so defensive over Merlin?

‘I’m afraid that’s the point, my Lady. Merlin’s Magic, now that he has reached his Destiny, will grow exponentially. And, so far, it seems to be tearing him apart.’ He’d woken him up this morning, with a bright grin on his face and a cheeky remark about how Arthur was beginning to get lazy. They were still talking about the same Merlin?

‘He’s been acting… strangely.’ Gaius commented, and Morgana nodded.

‘Drawn off. Sad, almost.’

‘Like he had something he wanted to tell us.’ Gwaine added, earning him a few surprised glances. Arthur was dismayed to find that he hadn't picked up on a single thing, the guilt bubbling away.

‘If he doesn’t learn to accept his Magic, then he will burn up. He doesn’t have Magic, he IS Magic. It’s as much a part of him, as his blood.’ And with that, Arthur realised it was all going to go wrong. That he should have noticed that something was wrong sooner.

‘Where is he?’ Arthur asked Gwaine, figuring that the Knight would know.

‘He fled Camelot, milord. To the Isle of the Blessed.’ Aglain rose, bowed his head, and walked from the room like he hadn't just broken everything that Arthur had ever known.


	2. Magic Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glad y'all have faith in this fic, have another chapter

Magic was at her strongest, on the Isle of the Blessed. She found herself wandering the ruins, made physical for the first time in a very, very long while, looking down to her child. He was curled at the altar, his Magic toiling and restless, the pain radiating from him and making her ache in a very human way. This was her proudest moment, when her child grew in power, yet he was so sad. Tears that rolled down pale cheeks, a knife stained red that she kept eyeing up.

When he saw her, she knew that she had been recognised. It was almost impossible, Emrys had never seen her, she had never been physical before in his life. But his Magic reached out, begging for her comfort, and she hoped to do the same in person. Bare feet moved across the grass and rubble to him, crouched down and cupped his cheek. It was odd, being able to hold her child, to see his blue eyes look up at hers.

He was like her. A child born of the sky, of the wind and sea and land. Eyes the colour of the brightest summer day, delicate angles and sharp edges like the dangers of the earth, with hair that ruffled in every breeze. Beautiful, she thought, for someone human.

‘Please.’ And his voice, it hit something in her, made the pain leak from her eyes. She was unsure on how to comfort his mundane side, but to take him into her arms like a babe, his head resting in her lap as she held him.

‘It’s alright, Emrys. You’ve done so well, my child. Perfect.’ Already, Magic was beginning to flourish in the Kingdom. Her King was doing well, she had been right to choose him, to gift him life. He would do well, to bring her gift back to Albion.

But not without Emrys. He was one of the main parts of this story, her very own child, a gift she had never had before.

‘I don’t want to hurt them anymore. I can’t… I can’t control it.’ It was a lot, she supposed, for someone so young. He was a mere babe, compared to her many years of experience. And the amount of power he had in his bones, it had to be scary for him. A mundane emotion, something she couldn’t quite feel, but she knew that she loved him. That was all it took, to wish him nothing but the best.

‘But Emrys, you are Magic! You can do so much, my dear, with your power.’ His wrists were smeared in blood, faint silver-tracked scars that she traced with her fingertips, trying to feel his pain. A knife could not kill him, not her child, she would never leave him so vulnerable.

She’d never thought he’d turn it against himself.

‘It hurts.’ He whispered, like it was a secret. Like he was ashamed, to feel such a human thing. She tucked him to her chest, let her warmth close over him, to ground him. Never had she been so close to him, not since watching him be born, her child.

‘You’re doing so well, Merlin. Just a little more, and then all shall be well.’ The King was closing in on her child, he was on the boat already, his group alongside them. She would stay until he arrived, to keep her boy safe.

**

Arthur looked to Morgana, who reached for his hand. Nervous, this was evidently a place of Magic, even he could feel that. The ruins towered over the place, as they moved through and over the rubble. Morgana’s eyes were darting around, her grip slightly clammy in his, the two of them looking through the mist that seemed to have formed from nothing.

It parted as they moved, channelling them towards the central point of what would have once been an incredible structure. There, his eyes focused on the stone altar, and one the woman at the base of it.

He caught sight of Merlin, a flash of the old jacket and that ridiculous neckerchief, both him and Gwaine lunging forwards.

But Morgana stopped them both, and Arthur realised the woman was glowing slightly. Hair the colour of the sun, and eyes a bright golden, yet she wasn’t harming him. Just cradling, like she was trying to be gentle.

‘Morgana, what is she?’ He whispered, hand torn between reaching for his sword, or staying by his side.

‘I don’t… something strong. Terrifyingly so.’ Not good news, he thought, before the woman looked across to them.

‘I mean you no harm, Once and Future King. I mean only to protect my child, whilst he is unable to do so for himself.’ Her child? He looked to Morgana, before taking a step forwards.

‘You know who I am?’ She cocked her head, while a hand ran over Merlin’s face. His eyes were shut, from what Arthur could see, and he caught sight of a knife.

‘Of course. I gifted you life, and made my child to protect you.’ He didn’t question her anymore, not when the answers were too confusing.

‘What did you do?’

‘He did this to himself, I fear. His Magic grows stronger, and I had hope he could contain it. With affection, perhaps…’ She trailed off, rising to her feet and plucking the knife from the ground. She gave him one last look, before turning and walking away.

As soon as she was gone, Arthur went running. Dived down onto the ground beside Merlin, and looked to his friend.

**

‘How do we teach the strongest person alive how to control his Magic?’ Arthur pointed out, and Morgana looked up. They had made it back to Camelot, and Merlin was resting, Morgana staying by his side. Gaius had checked him over, looked highly worried when they found marks on his skin. Usually, all his scars faded with his Magic, which made these ones highlighted. On his inner wrist, tracked with blood. On his stomach. She feared they had been self-inflicted, cradled Merlin’s hand gently, looked across to where Gwaine was holding his other hand.

‘We remind him that he has people that care for him, that will support him.’ Morgana snapped, before her expression turned softer when Merlin made a sound, like he could sense the argument even in unconsciousness.

‘And how do we ask about these?’ Gwaine gestured to the cuts on his wrists, and everyone fell silent. Nobody quite knew how to address those, nor wanting to push Merlin too far.

‘We see how he is when he wakes.’ Gaius stated firmly, not leaving any room for argument.

**

When Merlin woke, he was back in his room in Camelot. For a moment, he feared his Magic had taken him back, but then he spotted Gwaine, holding one of his hands. So, they had arrived at the Isle of the Blessed. For some reason, Merlin could not remember what had happened, just that someone had held him, someone who felt warm.

‘Merlin.’ Gwaine was awake, alerted by the fact that Merlin had tried to shuffle himself out from under the blankets. Wide eyes, filled with worry, and Merlin looked back at him in horror.

‘I…’

‘Thank the Gods.’ Arms wrapped around him, and he tried to fight for a moment, feared his Magic might attack. But it didn’t, and Merlin clung to Gwaine’s shoulders in hope that he understood, that someone might save him.

‘Forgive me, Gwaine, I’m so sorry, I didn’t…’ He was cut off by lips against his, so quickly that he gasped. The Knight’s cheeks were damp with tears, hands shaking as he held Merlin like he feared he’d slip away. But he would not, and Merlin felt his Magic surge forwards in excitement, in hope, and then he remembered exactly why he was supposed to be keeping it away. His emotions, too unstable for this, pulling back even if he wanted nothing more than to stay.

‘I can’t… I’m not in control.’ He tried to explain, felt his eyes flick between golden and his normal blue, Gwaine watching with a smile. Hands took his, Merlin trying to recoil away, but the Knight holding him steady.

‘I’m not afraid of you, Merlin.’ It was sweet, how much faith he had, but Merlin really did think that he should be worried. He had very little control, at the moment, and Gwaine always managed to trigger his emotions.

But, at least he was no longer alone.


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana tries to help him train

Merlin stood, feeling slightly worried, with Morgana by his side. The High Priestess was wrapped in a cape, beaming at him at his willingness to attempt this method of learning. It was like he had done for her, the open field and the treeline that he was supposed to be focused on.

‘Now, we’ll start with destructive Magic, and then create!’ Clapping her hands like she was excited, while Merlin wished he had gained the ability to teleport, so that he could get far away from the people he wanted to protect. The others had come to watch, his father-figure included, seated a little way back to give them space.

‘Can’t we start with creating?’ He felt slightly more secure in creating Magic, at least then he might not kill everyone by accident. Morgana hesitated, but shook her head.

‘You said to start with destructive. It’s easier to control.’ He wished that his younger-self had seen the issue that would come of teaching Morgana, that she might turn the lessons against him. He sighed, straightened himself and looked across to his teacher.

‘That tree, that’s the one we’re going to focus on.’ To demonstrate, she let a fireball hit it, the spell rolling from her lips with ease. He felt a momentary flash of proudness wash over, she really was an accomplished sorceress, before remembering why they were here. Right, the tree.

‘How would you go about destroying it?’ She asked, and Merlin looked to the tree. Lightning would be quickest, he thought, but would require summoning a storm. He could just…

The tree exploded, right from the root, and Merlin yelped as bark came flying in their direction. Barely had time to throw a shield up, watching the wood bounce off it, and the dust settle. Where they tree had been, a massive hole in the ground. The trees around were gone as well, which probably wasn’t a good thing.

‘You didn’t say anything.’ Morgana stated, eyeing him up curiously.

‘I thought it.’ Merlin admitted, and her eyes widened.

‘You think things, and they happen?’ Apparently so, not a great start, and he looked to the crater with sadness.

‘I don’t think this is going to work.’

**

Gwaine tried not to show his worry, as yet another hundred rabbits appeared on the meadow. At this rate, all of Camelot would be sieged by the creatures. Merlin looked positively miserable, eyes welling with tears and Morgana looking slightly concerned.

‘I asked for one rabbit.’ She pointed out, while Gwaine surveyed the damage. Missing trees, massive holes in the ground, and hundreds of rabbits filling the clearing but not leaving. Like they were waiting for Merlin to give another order. The more worked up he got, the worse the spells became, and he couldn’t take it.

Leaving the safety of the group, he walked across to where Merlin was, Morgana getting the hint and moving back.

‘This is hopeless. I should just go back to the island and…’

‘Maybe we aren’t going about it right. As much as I love rabbits, there’s way too many of them now.’ Merlin chuckled weakly, evidently exhausted of trying to get the spells right, and Gwaine wanted nothing more than to cheer him up.

‘Rather than trying to fight your Magic, why don’t you let it do what it wants?’ He wasn’t sure if that was a good idea either, but nothing else had worked.

‘What if it hurts you?’ Gwaine had considered the possibility, thought that if that happened, Merlin would be gone. Nobody could pull him back from that.

‘It won’t. I have faith in you.’ And it was the truth. He knew Merlin didn’t want to hurt him, had to hope his Magic would do the same thing. Reached out and took Merlin’s hand, knowing that if anyone hadn't heard that he was trying to Court Merlin, they would understand it now.

‘Okay.’ Merlin looked unsure, didn’t let his eyes leave Gwaine’s, even as they turned golden. He’d never really noticed it before, the specs of blue that remained, the swirl of sunlight that was rather terrifying, yet oddly calming.

Gwaine didn’t look away, even when he heard mutters from behind. Knew that Merlin’s Magic had to be doing something, but could only hope it was the right thing.

‘I never noticed how pretty your eyes were, when you do Magic.’ Gwaine muttered, flicking his gaze over them to Merlin’s smile, which was growing.

‘What does it feel like?’ He asked, and Merlin shrugged.

‘Like warmth. A feeling, something that’s always been there. It’s just stronger now, thinks for itself.’ Huh, Gwaine couldn’t quite imagine it, not until Merlin’s hand squeezed his. It started there, like sunlight along his skin, creeping up and settling all the way into his body, down to his bones. Just as Merlin had described.

‘And the pain?’ He dared to ask, watched Merlin’s smile falter, before he reached out carefully. Gwaine allowed it, Merlin’s fingers going for his arm, before a sharp pinch made him jump. The warmth settled back down, dived deep into his body and stayed there, not trying to rise.

‘I get it.’ He whispered, and Merlin gave a shaky smile. When Gwaine released his hand, looked out across the field, he was surprised to find the rabbits gone. Where they had been, flowers blooming, and the crater replaced with trees and the dirt that had previously stained his clothing.

‘It worked.’ He sounded shocked, and Gwaine nudged his shoulder.

‘Don’t be so shocked. I knew you could do it.’ Merlin’s smile was worth it.

**

He sat in his room, struggling between balancing his Magic and fear, realising that he was doing the same thing again. Worrying. And every time he did it, his Magic began to act out, like it was trying to prove it was capable of handling itself. Merlin knew he shouldn’t be panicking, but it was getting harder to believe what Gwaine had said, especially alone in his room.

It was cold, and he regretted the thought the moment it happened, because a small fire started at the base of the bed.

Deep breaths, he was doing okay, he could do this. Just ask his Magic to pull it back, it was fine. He whispered the spell, the fire dancing higher, and he squeaked in worry.

The door opened, Gaius’s sleepy-tired eyes becoming very awake at the sight of the fire.

‘Merlin.’

‘I can’t, I’m trying! It’s not listening!’ Panic, that was what was setting into his bones, and Merlin couldn’t hear Gaius speaking anymore. The man was trying to calm him, words that Merlin thought might work, if he could hear them. Instead, the fire raced higher, and all Merlin could think about was that he didn’t want Gaius to burn.

He probably deserved it, but Gaius didn’t.

He moved so quickly, snatched out the knife that he kept under his pillow. Gaius’s tone picked up panic, but Merlin had to do this. He’d be okay, just needed to be unconscious long enough for his Magic to focus on something else.

It dug into his skin in one solid move, and Merlin felt the panic slip away, vaguely noted that Gaius was shouting for help as he hit the pillows.


	4. Manage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's learning a balance

They weren’t happy with him. No, they were worried, because Merlin had stabbed himself and healed like it was a minor pinprick. He sat silently, listening to the group talk about how best to help him, whether or not they should have the Druids come back. Merlin couldn’t think of anything worse, more people to watch him slowly fade into nothing but a burning ball of Magic. He thought back to the Isle of the Blessed, to Lady Magic, that was who had come to him.

Was he like her? Someone that would become a myth, a legend, able to walk the earth but never be human enough to settle. The thought was a sad one, he felt tears begin to form. He didn’t want to be immortal, he WANTED the knife to hurt, maybe even to kill. But his Magic wouldn’t allow it to happen.

It had to be someone with a sense of humour, making him immortal. His very job was to put his life on the line for Arthur, only to learn that he was immortal? He hated it, what was the point in fear anymore? He’d come back, kicking and screaming, back to sit in this stupid world with some very worried faces staring at him.

‘This sucks.’ He muttered, mostly to himself, not expecting anyone to agree. Least of all Lancelot, who had taken a seat by his side.

‘You got that right.’ Merlin blinked, looked across to his friend, who offered a small smile.

‘I get it. Part of who you are, risking your life for him, and you can’t die? Takes away some of the honour.’ For a moment, Merlin was concerned that Lancelot was the one needing therapy, then understood. His honour of being a Knight, it came with the perilous threat of death. He shuffled closer, Lancelot doing the same, until their shoulders were touching. Nice, he’d always trusted Lancelot to be his friend, to understand him.

‘If I can’t die, I’m not letting you all get a peaceful death either.’ He warned, eyeing up Lancelot, who chuckled.

‘I’d expect nothing less from you, my friend.’ At least one person didn’t think he was weird, Merlin concluded, looking back to the group that were chatting.

**

‘Maybe the issue is that I care too much.’ Merlin mused, and Gwaine looked across. He had asked if he could be excused from the talk, and Gwaine had agreed, as long as he got to come along for the walk. They ended up just outside the gates, the Knight sitting down by his side as Merlin tried to understand why he was now immortal. Had he always been?

‘I think that you rely too much on yourself. That you don’t understand that we all want to help you.’ Gwaine remarked, taking his hand. Merlin linked their fingers together, felt his Magic trying to break free. He didn’t stop it, watched as flowers began to randomly spring up, watched them do so with a curious expression.

‘So you think that if I just accepted that you’re there for me, that my Magic would stop?’ Gwaine rolled over, propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at him. He looked rather handsome like that, Merlin thought, reaching out, then drawing back.

‘I think the last thing your Magic should do is stop.’ Then Gwaine kissed him, gentle and sweet, and Merlin forgot all about his Magic, in favour of the warmth in his chest.

**

The Lake of Avalon looked, well, as it always did. Merlin dismounted from the horse, reached the edge of the water and tipped his head back. The scream that broke free sounded feral, everything he kept pent up, all the anger and misery and the knowledge that he would live long past all those that he cared for.

When the scream died, he dropped down to his knees, realised that he hadn't held back his Magic in that moment. That it was free to do as it pleased, yet it hadn't attacked, despite his foul mood. He looked across the Lake, decided that if Freya was going to ignore him, then he was going to make her listen.

He reached out, let his hands sink into the watery sand, focused on sending his Magic out. It pulsed in waves, travelling through the lake and calling forth her Magic, until the Lady of the Lake appeared, standing in the water and staring back at him.

‘You’re getting stronger.’ She remarked, a soft smile that would have been caring, had she not been dead. Merlin rose, faced her, his Magic curling around him like a blanket. For once, he allowed it, like an extra-layer of clothes.

‘Tell Destiny that I’m done with it. I want no part in its games, in the mess that it’s trying to weave. If it wants me, it can come and get me.’ He hissed the words, watched her recoil, then a slow smile spread across her lips. He turned, his Magic slamming the Lady back into her Lake, and the Warlock walked away.

**

He opted for standing on the grass, wondering when this had happened. Evidently, this was slightly better than his Magic always thinking for itself. Instead, it seemed to have wound itself against him, he could feel it wrapping around every inch of his skin, like it was trying to get as close as possible. No longer did he need to speak, to summon it. A thought, aimed at the base of the tree, was enough for a spark to flick to life, vines racing up and climbing the branches.

Alive. It was alive, linked to his mind like a limb would be, it was only as strong as he allowed it to be.

With that thought in mind, he went in search of Gwaine.

**

Gwaine had never feared Merlin’s Magic, not even when he saw what it could do. He didn’t even fear it now, when the heat spread across his skin, lit up every nerve ending. Merlin’s eyes were the brightest golden, his entire body seemed to glow with the power, and it was thrilling. He gripped tighter, rocking up and kissing Merlin, the two rolling in the sheets.

They should have fallen from the bed by now, but every time they got too close, Merlin’s Magic was acting out to save them. It was incredible, he knew Merlin couldn’t be focusing on that, yet it was doing it by itself. Attempting to save him, even in his subconscious.

He kissed back harder, a metallic taste lingering, and he felt his lips tingle with Magic as the cut healed, like it had never existed.

Pain may help focus his Magic, but he suspected that Merlin was beginning to realise he didn’t need to do such a thing, that the best way to control his power, was to let it free.

With the heat of Merlin’s body pressed to his, Gwaine found that he couldn’t quite think anymore.

**

Arthur didn’t say anything, just watched with an amused smile as Merlin tried to chase the sword that his Magic had stolen, watched his manservant scold it like it was alive. When Merlin turned, caught Arthur standing in the doorway watching, he blushed dark red.

‘I was… we were, it was…’ He stumbled, stammered over the words in confusion, and Arthur had never been more pleased for his friend. He shrugged, walked across and admired the floating sword, wondered if it was normal to feel no fear of something so strong.

‘Evidently, your Magic is just as incompetent as you.’ Arthur teased, watched the sword droop slightly, before it seemed to pick up on the fact that it was joking. A pillow hit his head, both Merlin and Arthur looking just as shocked, before Arthur started laughing.

‘Don’t look so terrified, Merlin. You’re just as weird as you’ve always been.’ The manservant struggled over words, before settling for a bright smile, and pulled him in for a hug. Arthur had expected this, hugged him back briefly, before pulling away.

‘You’d be lost without me, Sire.’ He teased, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘No, Merlin, I’d be on time to council meetings.’ The Warlock laughed, bright and happy, and Arthur decided that it had been the right thing to do, legalising Magic.

After all, how would he have explained how good-luck seemed to follow him throughout his day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planned on this being the last chap, hope y'all enjoyed the ride


End file.
